ut?

jeg synes det er vanskelig å blogge om å være lesbisk. det er vanskelig å snakke om det også. og noen ganger er det vanskelig å være det. det er vanskelig fordi det er personlig og nært, ikke bare for meg, men for mange rundt meg også. det er vanskelig fordi å være lesbisk er på den ene siden helt normalt, men på den andre unormalt. fordi det ikke er noen sak, men samtidig den største saken i verden. det er vanskelig fordi det egentlig ikke skal være noen sak. men det er det. det er en sak når jeg stadig blir minnet på at jeg er annerledes. kanskje det er jeg som tror jeg er annerledes, men ofte er det noen andre som sier det på en eller annen måte.
noen ganger (eller kanskje alle) sier andre det bedre. på salon er det en spalte som heter since you asked. i et av brevene skriver en far at han tror at den tretten år gamle sønnen hans kanskje er homo. gutten har sett på homseporno på nettet, og faren lurer på om dette er normal og spør om råd. den kloke cary tennis svarer:

To paraphrase a Frank Zappa song from the 1960s, I’m not gay but there’s a whole lot of times I wish I could say I wasn’t straight! I mean, we straight people have to really step up on this whole homosexuality thing. We walk around like we’re the normal ones and everybody else is, like, different. But just think about it. Like, on a gut level, remember when you were 13? It was weird, right? Getting hair, and having urges, and wondering about girls and jobs and the future, and wondering, wondering, wondering. Can you imagine what it’s like for a kid as these natural processes, spiritual and biological and utterly beyond his control, are taking him on a strange ride that he didn’t really buy a ticket to but he’s on anyway, as he’s trying to grow up and conform and figure out what he supposed to be doing, what it’s like for him to realize that the way he’s developing, just, by the way, is utterly freaking out the adults, so they’re having conferences in the kitchen and they’re looking at him funny and not believing what he says, and now he’s lying about what he’s looking at because he has no idea what’s going to happen to him if it turns out, horror of horrors, that he might actually be gay, that it’s a scary, weird problem that he has to hide from others, especially those in his own family? Can you imagine what that’s like? Can I? And we straights wonder why gay guys sometimes wait until their 20s or 30s or 40s to come out to their families? Or never come out? Or prefer not to mention it or make it a topic of national discussion or get a little testy when we assume that in our latterly discovered enlightenment we will treat every gay guy as regional spokesman for, like, Gay America, and we bring up the gayness of others as if we were the ones who, naturally, because we are so wise in other areas such as the conduct of foreign policy and stewardship of the environment, will take it upon ourselves to decide for them how they ought to act and what they are entitled to and whether they can live together and get married and visit each other in the hospital? And whether what they do and who they do it with is a sin? As if we could speak not only for the powerful white Christian heterosexual majority of America but for God himself? Jesus! If I was gay but had the benefit of knowing how we straight people think, would I ever come out? I’m not so sure. I might prefer to just keep the whole thing between me and a few friends.

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